


The First Nail in the Coffin

by Guanin



Series: Antipodal Shadows [13]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 21:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3090839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim meets Harvey Dent, hoping that this ADA will be trustworthy. But just like they seek to put pressure on the mob, Maroni cashes in on Jim's promise to work for him by ordering him to let a murder suspect go free, which puts strain on Jim and Oswald's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Oswald drove Jim home. They were silent most of the way, exhausted from the long talk at Harvey’s place. There had been a million things to discuss, running the whole gamut of Falcone and Maroni’s operations. They outlined possible avenues of attack, discussing the pros and cons of each in an endless back and forth that left everyone irascible and Oswald yearning for a drink. Normally, he abstained from alcohol during business discussions, for proper strategizing required a clear head. But after the third time that Bullock quaffed from his hip flask, Oswald stood up, ripped the flask from the man's hands, and took a swig himself. Bullock protested with a loud, "Hey!" and wrestled Oswald for it until Jim burst out laughing. Bullock and Oswald stopped and watched as Jim bent over, head practically between his knees, only held up by pressing his right hand to his forehead. The joyous, if slightly hysterical, sound settled Oswald's nerves somewhat. Thrusting the flask to Bullock, Oswald sat back down beside his cackling boyfriend. Once the last hiccupping chuckles faded away, the discussion had resumed, sans alcohol.

Oswald stopped in front of Jim’s building. Putting the car in Park, he fell back against his seat, contemplating the darkened street ahead of them.

“I wish I could stay over,” he said. 

Jim replied with a wistful smile.

“I wish you could, too. But your mom will worry. You’ve been away long enough.”

Oswald had been away for longer, but she did worry. His rushed explanation on the phone last night about not being able to make it home because of work hadn’t pleased her. She knew that he worked at all hours. It had never been a problem. But since he had taken up with Jim, she was growing wary and suspicious. It vexed him. 

“I know,” Oswald said. “She might break down your door in the middle of the night.”

Jim laughed, then his smile slipped a little.

“You are kidding, right?”

“Of course. She’s not strong enough to break a door down.”

“I feel like she might find a way. Best not risk it.”

It amused Oswald that Jim was afraid of his mom. She was harmless. Mostly. 

“She won’t hurt you,” Oswald said. “You don’t need to worry so much.”

“I would still rather she not hate me.”

 _I’m afraid that’s inevitable_ , Oswald thought.

“I need a change of clothes, anyway,” he said instead. “Can I stay over tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow’s good.”

They kissed, holding onto each other for a little while before Jim exited the car. Oswald watched him enter the building, black scarf held up to his neck against the cold, then he headed home.

That night, waiting well after his mom had fallen asleep for the sake of caution, Oswald snuck an overnight bag and a couple of suits down to his car.   
`````````````  
“I want the Theatre District,” Maroni said while he had his morning cup of coffee. “In case you were wondering which specific part of Falcone’s organization you should get for me, I want that one. And anything else you can manage, but that is your priority.”

“Of course,” Oswald said, barely sipping from his own cup. “I suspected that would be the case. It is one of the jewels in Falcone’s crown, after all. How can you hope to supersede him if you don’t acquire it?”

“Precisely. So you will get it for me.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, sir. Have no doubt on that count. I know how to handle Fish Mooney.”

“You didn’t last time."

Oswald's hand tightened on his knee.

“I do now. I learn from my mistakes.”

“You better have.”

````````````  
.The next morning, Harvey covered for Jim at the precinct while Jim went to a pay phone a couple of blocks away and made a phone call. Between the character references he had been able to obtain and Oswald’s input, he had managed to narrow down the ADA list to a couple of names. The most promising one was one that both Harvey and Oswald had recognized: Harvey Dent. According to Harvey, Montoya and Allen had worked at least one case with him, and Oswald added that he had been involved in an investigation on embezzled pension funds in the teamsters union a year back. That was part of Maroni’s organization, but Oswald didn’t think that Falcone had instigated the investigation, though he had been quick to buy off Dent’s superior to smother it after he and Maroni made a deal. But Montoya and Allen wouldn’t trust a dirty ADA, so it looked like Dent was clean. 

Jim called Dent’s office. The PA who answered transferred him quickly. 

“This is Harvey Dent.”

“Mr. Dent. This is Detective James Gordon with the GCPD. There is a matter that I would like to discuss with you, if possible.”

“Of course. Is it about a case?”

“Not as such. Not yet, anyway. It’s a little unorthodox, I’m afraid.”

“I see. What does it relate to?”

“Falcone.”

That was it. The make it or break it name. Most everyone in this town would make their excuses and hang up on him in the next few seconds. The pause that ensued made it distressingly apparent that such would be the case this time.

“Detective Gordon, may I ask? Are you the James Gordon who had arrest warrants taken out on the mayor and Falcone? The one that Falcone wanted killed?”

Crap. That had never gotten him any favors.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“And you’re still trying to take down Falcone?” 

Dent sounded amazed. Incredulous, even. Everyone always was. Most couldn't decide whether he was crazy or stupid, which they made annoyingly clear to him.

“Yes, I am.”

“I’ve gotta say, detective. I’m intrigued. I would like to meet with you, if possible.”

Jim swallowed a sigh of relief.

“That would be great. Can you do lunch today?”

“Absolutely.” 

They decided on a café some distance from any frequented by members of either of their departments. Dent was already there when Jim arrived, sitting at a corner table toward the back. Jim recognized him from the picture attached to his online profile in the DA's website.  
He looked around Jim's age. Harvey would say that he was clinging to the "idealism of youth". He loved to toss that one at Jim every so often. 

Dent stood as Jim approached, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. 

“Detective Gordon?” he asked, voice low so that the other customers wouldn’t overhear.

“Yes,” Jim said, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dent.”

Dent took his hand, shaking it firmly.

“The pleasure is all mine. Please, have a seat.”

They sat down.

“Thank you so much for meeting with me,” Jim said. “I wasn’t sure who I should contact in the DA’s office.”

“I’ll be honest. If you had called any of my colleagues and mentioned Falcone like you did, they would have hung up on you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I hate what the mob has done to this city. And nothing would give me greater pleasure than to ensure that Falcone pays for his part in it.”

It sounded like he meant every word. Especially the pleasure part. 

“I hear that he had one of your investigations shut down. The teamsters' union.”

“Yes." Frustration bit into Dent’s voice. "He paid off the DA. It wasn’t even him we were targeting."

"How likely do you think it will be that your boss will shut you down if you cooperate with me on this?"

"That depends on what exactly you're planning. What are you planning?"

Good question. They still didn’t have the most concrete plan. There were too many fluctuating variables, and striking at any one of them threatened to expose Oswald. 

“I have a CI,” Jim said. “He doesn’t know everything about Falcone’s organization, but he knows enough. We want to hit Falcone’s political base. Maybe some of his businesses.”

“This CI, would he happen to be Oswald Cobblepot?”

Jim’s face hardened. He had hoped to keep Oswald’s name out of this, but their friendship had become common knowledge by now. Of course Dent knew about it.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Dent said, noticing the change in Jim’s expression. “I heard that you two are friends. That is all. And he did used to work for Fish Mooney.”

Right.

“Safe assumption to make, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

“You’re not to use his name in anything, do you understand me?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t write it. You don’t say it to anyone who isn’t me.”

“I understand perfectly. I won’t place your friend in danger, I swear to you.”

He better not.

“Good,” Jim said. “I’m going out on a limb here. There is a large possibility that this could end up very badly for all of us.”

“I’ve known that since I first turned down a bribe, detective. I’m ready for it.”

Determined fire shone in Dent’s eyes as well as his voice. This man wouldn’t back down easily. A good trait to have in an ally, which Jim dearly hoped that he would be. It was too late to turn back. Dent would either help them or become a liability, which wouldn't end well for anyone.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Jim said.

```````````````  
 _I’m heading home_ , Jim texted Oswald.

_I’ll meet you there._

Oswald had only been waiting at Jim’s door for a couple of minutes when Jim arrived. They kissed each other hello, Jim pressing Oswald briefly against the door, driving thoughts of Maroni and the task before them to the back of Oswald’s mind.

“Brought a change of clothes this time, huh?” Jim said, looking at Oswald’s garment bag as he opened the door.

“Yes. I brought a couple, too, just in case.”

Going to the bedroom, he placed his bags on the bed and started taking the suits out. The shirts were a little wrinkled, but not too badly. Jim didn’t own a steamer, but Oswald worked fine with an iron. Jim approached him as he hung them in the closet, holding something out. A key sat in the center of his palm.

“My spare,” Jim said, smiling. “I’ll get a copy made tomorrow.”

His apartment key. Jim was giving him a copy of his apartment key. Oswald could come in and out whenever he wanted, just as if he lived here. He took it, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling Jim down for a kiss. “This means so much to me.”

Jim held him tightly, caressing Oswald’s lower back. 

“You’re welcome,” he murmured against Oswald’s lips. 

Oswald pulled Jim’s shirt out of his pants and slid his hands up his deliciously warm back, then started undoing Jim’s belt.

“I thought that we might eat first,” Jim said, smiling.

“Are you hungry?” Oswald asked, pausing.

Jim watched him for a moment, a different type of hunger shinning in his eyes.

“Not enough to skip this,” Jim said, pushing off Oswald’s jacket. 

Oswald sucked him off, kneeling before Jim, luxuriating in the feel of Jim’s member in his mouth, licking him slowly, lips tight around him. He stroked Jim’s balls, delighting in how desperately Jim gripped his shoulders every time that his fingers slid back and forth. 

“Can—Oh, God. Can you try something?” Jim asked, sounding so wonderfully needy.

Oswald looked up at him expectantly.

“Can you finger me?” Jim continued.

Oh. That they hadn’t done before. Oswald obliged, slipping one hand between Jim’s spread legs, caressing down Jim’s perineum, drawing a groan from him before locating his hole. He slipped a couple of digits inside, smiling as Jim shivered, pushing back against them, moaning. Wrapping his free arm around Jim's hips to steady him, Oswald stroked all along his rim, thrusting gently in and out in time with his sucking as best he could. Jim cried out as he came, clutching Oswald’s shoulders. Standing up, Oswald guided him to the bed and laid him down, knowing that Jim needed some time to recover. God, he made a beautiful sight. Eyes blinking closed, panting, skin flushed all over, his shirt ridding up, and pants hanging down over his knees. 

“What about you?” Jim asked after a few moments.

“I can wait until we eat.” 

Oswald was half hard, but he’d be fine. He didn’t want to make Jim wait any longer for his food. Jim was usually pretty hungry by the time that he got off of work. 

“Rest up,” Oswald continued. “I’ll make us dinner.”

“You don’t have to. Just order something.”

“I want to. Don’t worry. I won’t make anything complicated.”

He couldn’t even if he had wanted to. Jim was grievously low on fresh food. Grabbing what was left of the vegetables, Oswald mixed them with fish and the last two potatoes, making a stew. Jim came in when the pot was boiling, looking laid-back in blue jeans and a white Star Wars shirt. He slid behind Oswald, wrapping his arms around his waist. 

“It smells delicious,” Jim said. 

Oswald leaned against him, shrugging.

“It’s just odds and ends.”

“Thank you for cooking. You really didn’t have to.”

“I like cooking for you.”

“I really appreciate it.”

Jim nuzzled the side of Oswald’s neck, gently caressing Oswald’s hips.

“I’m still cooking,” Oswald said, lowering the fire on the stove so that the stew would simmer.

“I'm just holding you. Don't worry. I’m not going to start anything now.”

A cell phone beeped. For a second, Oswald thought that it was his and his happy buzz started to wilt, but then he recognized the specific tone of Jim’s phone. Jim raised his head, hands stilling on Oswald’s hips, but he didn’t move.

“Should you get it?” Oswald asked.

“It can wait. It’s a text, not a call, so it’s not urgent.”

Oswald relaxed against him again. He didn’t want to think about work right now. Grabbing Jim’s right hand, he twinned their fingers together and kissed his palm, drinking in his comforting warmth and scent, mentally latching on to it to shove away his sudden, sour mood.

Neither mentioned anything to do with work as they ate. Only after the last drop of soup had been sipped and Jim washed the plates did Oswald force himself to ask,

“How was your meeting with Dent?”

“Better than I thought. I think we can trust him. As much as we can trust anyone in this town. He, um. He guessed that you were my source.”

“It’s not exactly a wild guess.”

“Yeah, I know. I would rather he didn’t, but it is too obvious.”

“Did he make any other inconvenient guesses?”

“No. And I kept certain details vague, like we talked about. But he’s going to start to wonder about your motivations, if he hasn’t already.”

Oswald should probably set up countermeasures in case Dent became a threat, but Jim wouldn’t approve. Playing by Jim’s moralistic rules was going to get irritating really fast, but if he wanted to keep Jim happy, he needed to compromise. That was how a relationship worked, right? And Jim had already conceded so much for him. Oswald could not be so selfish as to deny him his own goals. The politicians that Oswald had earmarked for Dent to go after were not to be turned to Maroni’s or Oswald’s side. They would simply be forced out of office, a win in Jim’s quest to clean up the city, as well as undermining Falcone’s political pull. 

“We’ll deal with that if it becomes necessary,” Oswald said. “I can talk to him, if need be.”

“And threaten him?”

Slight censure was audible in Jim’s voice.

“No. Of course not. I would simply emphasize that you are sincere in your intentions. That I’m not like Falcone and Maroni.”

Though only because of Jim. He would hardly restrain himself otherwise. What would be the sense in that? The compunction had never existed before it mattered what Jim thought of him. 

Jim picked at the edge of the table with his fingernail, glancing away from Oswald, who sensed that his turn of mind was running along the same lines.

“That you’re not,” Jim said. “I would have arrested you long ago if you were.”

Smiling weakly, Jim stood up and leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.

“I’m going to check my phone,” he said, going to the bedroom. 

Standing up as well, Oswald turned on the TV. With the mood that Jim was in, the best thing to do was put on some silly sitcom. That always cheered him up. Sitting on the couch, he idly stroked his right cufflink, hardly noticing the action. He’d taken to doing that lately when his mind was troubled, this small piece of Jim’s affection comforting him. Reaching for the side table, he grabbed a pad of paper and a pen and started to compose an anonymous letter to Dent containing the dirt on the politicians that they needed him to know for now. At home tomorrow, he would type it up and mail it to Dent’s office. It was an old, snitch trick. Hardly foolproof, of course. The injured parties could make an educated guess about who had sent the missive, but as long as Dent followed the timeline that Jim established for him and didn’t jump the gun, repercussions should be manageable. 

Jim returned to the living room and sat next to Oswald, his thigh pressing against him. He frowned at the TV, then at Oswald.

“You don’t like this show,” he said. 

“But you do. You could use a laugh.”

Jim rubbed Oswald’s leg, squeezing just above his knee.

“Thanks.”

Later, after the show had put a smile back on Jim’s face, Jim pulled him closer and made Oswald forget their troubles for a little while longer.


	2. Chapter 2

Oswald called him at work the next morning. Jim sat back from his desk when he saw Oswald’s number on his phone display, his guard up. Oswald never called him during the day other than during Jim’s lunch hour.

“Hey,” he answered. 

“Hi. Don Maroni wants to speak with you.”

Oh, fuck.

“Can you go someplace private?” Oswald continued, sounding anxious.

“Sure. Give me a minute. Are you alright? Has he hurt you?”

“Yes. And no.”

Clipped answers. Maroni was watching him. Writing out Maroni’s name on a piece of notepaper, Jim slid it onto Harvey’s desk. Harvey cursed under his breath, crumbling the paper in his hand. 

“Is he okay?” Harvey whispered.

Jim nodded, getting up from his chair. He rushed out the front door into the street, counting on the bustle of the crowd to keep from being overheard while watching out for any suspicious characters. It was hardly ideal, but it would be too easy for someone to barge in on him at one of the rooms in the precinct.

“Put him on,” he said. 

The next voice that Jim heard was Maroni’s, greeting him as if they were old friends.

“Jim. How are you doing?”

Jim’s left hand tightened into a fist. 

“I’m well, sir.”

“Listen, I need you do something for me. Your precinct arrested a young man last night for murder. His name is Daniel Coleman. I need you to get the case against him dropped.”

God fucking damnit.

“He’s not one of my cases.”

“Then one of your colleagues has him. It’s still your precinct. Figure something out.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier for you to bribe one of the detectives working the case?”

“You can bribe them if you want, though I don’t think you can afford it. I’m telling you to get rid of this case, so you are going to do it. The only words I want to hear out of you are ‘yes’ and ‘sir. Oswald here would really appreciate it.”

Jim gritted his teeth, his nails biting into his palm.

“Yes, sir,” he said, feeling like he was chewing on glass.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Maroni hung up. Jim flipped the phone shut, squeezing it so hard that he feared he might break it. 

“What happened?” Harvey asked him as soon as Jim returned to their desks.

Jim clutched the back of his chair, too furious to sit down. God, he wanted to throw up.

“Shit,” Harvey said, sitting up straighter in his chair, worry creeping into his voice. “What did he want?”

 _To rip out everything I stand for_.

Jim’s phone buzzed. A text from Oswald.

_I am so sorry. Coleman isn’t one of Maroni’s guys, but his mom is from the neighborhood. She begged him for the favor._

And Maroni thought that it was the perfect opportunity for Jim to prove his loyalty. Grabbing his notepad, Jim started to write. The risk of being overheard was too great.

_Daniel Coleman. Murder. Arrested last night. He wants me to kill the case._

After handing the pad to Harvey, he replied to Oswald.

_I’ll do what I need to. I just want to keep you safe._

“Do you know who has it?” Harvey asked. 

“No.”

“I’ll find out.”

Harvey stood up.

“It’s my problem,” Jim said. “You shouldn’t get involved.”

“Again. Already involved. And you’re not exactly in stealth mode right now. You’re too worked up. People are going to know that something’s up. So just sit down, try to breathe, and I’ll find out what we’ve got on this guy, okay?”

Jim wanted to argue, but Harvey was already going down the stairs. Fuck, he was right. There was no way that he could keep his anger off his face right now. So down he sat, turning his phone over and over in his hands. 

It buzzed.

_I’ll be fine. It’s just like last time._

Last time was one of the hardest things that Jim had ever done. What if this time it got easier? What if he got used to it? Could he really let a killer walk and look himself in the mirror again? But had he not done so already? Did he not do precisely that every single night? 

_I don’t want this to be easy_ , he texted.

_Neither do I. I hate what this is doing to you. You know that._

Yeah. He knew. Oswald respected Jim’s ideals, even though they were directly opposed to his own. Oswald didn’t want to corrupt him. It was an accident of circumstance. A tragic coincidence. Yet he was corrupting Jim. And Jim was letting him. Had been letting him for months. He didn’t have the strength to get him to stop, he never had, and he did not know why. Murder. Why did it have to be murder? Not vandalism. Not stealing cars. Maroni went straight for the charge that would hurt the most, just like Oswald had gone for his throat with his friendly eyes and his grateful smile and his helpful tip-offs. 

_I would do anything to keep you from this if I could,_ Oswald texted. 

Anything. Other than not being a criminal. But Jim had known what he was getting into. He couldn’t complain about that now. This was the prize you paid for being crazy.

 _I know_ , he replied.

But this wasn’t like last time, as it turned out. Coleman had robbed a convenience store. The cashier had resisted. Coleman shot him, took the cash from the register, and ran out, only to be caught by two patrolmen a block away. They had witnesses and security camera footage where you could clearly see his face. It was a clear cut case. Open and shut. The Masi case would have collapsed on its own eventually even without Jim giving up on it, but this one would probably lead to a conviction. Jim was going to put a killer back on the streets. Any murders that Coleman committed after this would be on Jim. He might as well be an accomplice.

“We steal the tape,” Harvey told him. “It’s simple. The witnesses’ testimony can be called into question. That tape is the smocking gun.”

“If I sign into the evidence room and look for it, they might link me to it. The timing is too much of a coincidence.”

“Well, they’re not going to leave it lying around unsupervised. There are people in and out of evidence all the time. Besides, it’s you. You're Saint Jim. Who’s going to suspect you? Look, it’s not ideal, but that word doesn’t apply to any part of this situation. Now close your eyes and think of that boyfriend of yours.”

Jim signed into the evidence register claiming to need to look over the evidence of one of his current cases. The clerk who worked there had never liked him, crooked as he was, so Jim was spared the need to look any less grim than he felt. He headed toward his evidence box, and, as soon as he was out of sight of the clerk, took a left turn to look for the Coleman case box. Finding it, he took out the security tape. He held it for a second too long, staring at the case number printed on the labeled bag the tape was in.

It was happening. He, James Gordon, was about to commit a criminal offense.

 _It's to keep Oswald safe_ , he told himself, forcing himself to breathe normally. _Oswald's life is the most important thing right now._

Tucking the tape inside his jacket under his arm, he searched for another box, one from a case closed in 2010. It would be too easy for the clerk to see him remove the tape from the room, so he buried it in the closed case's box, hoping that no one ever felt like giving that case a second glance. He left the room, hand fisting again at his side, his legs gummy, nausea rising in his throat. His thumb stabbed at the phone keys as he texted,

_It's done._

A few seconds later, Oswald called him.

"What did you do?" he asked.

"Hang on," Jim said, rushing to the bathroom. No one was inside. He checked under the stalls just in case. "I'll tell you later, but the case is dead. It might limp on for a bit, but it can't survive without this."

He clung to the edge of a sink, trying to control his breathing and his roiling stomach. He wouldn't throw up. Someone might come in. People remembered a detective throwing up in the bathroom.

"How are you?" Oswald asked. "Your breathing sounds off."

"I'll be fine." 

Inhale.

Exhale.

"How are you?" Jim asked. "Has he hurt you?"

He caught a glance at himself in the mirror. His skin was too pale, too waxy looking. He had to do something about that. Someone might notice. 

"No. I'm fine. I'll see you after work?" Oswald asked.

Jim should turn himself in right now.

"Yeah."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

Jim hung up, wrapping the phone in a furious fist.

A few minutes later, he returned to his desk. 

"How did it go?" Harvey asked, watching him carefully.

"Fine."

He hadn't been able to meet his own eyes in the mirror, not once.

"The first time is always the hardest."

"Yeah? Do this a lot, do you?"

"Hey. Don't get snippy at me. I'm helping."

Jim rubbed his forehead, shutting his eyes for a second.

"Sorry. Thanks for helping me."

"You're welcome. Just try to focus on why you did it rather than what you did."

Oswald. Focus on Oswald and nothing else.

"I'll do that."

And he did. He truly did, but then he just had to check his mail when he got home from work, didn't he? He just had to. And what was sitting there next to his electric bill? A manila envelope filled with a wad of bills, all twenties. 

Oswald's car was already parked outside. 

Jim rushed upstairs, key in hand, and barged into the apartment.

"Oswald!" he called out, the envelope twisting in his clenched hand.

Oswald emerged from the kitchen. He was dressed down to his shirt.

"What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

Jim held up the envelope.

“Did you leave this in my mailbox?” he asked.

“No.” Oswald shook his head, frowning at the envelope. “I swear to you, no.”

Jim lowered the envelope, breathing hard, realizing what he had just accused Oswald of.

“I’m sorry.”

“What’s in it?”

“Payoff money.” 

Jim took out the money and threw it on the table along with the envelope, needing to get it as far away from him as possible. The feel of those dirty bills on his skin was making him itch. 

“Maroni wants you on the take,” Oswald said, looking at the bills.

“He doesn’t need me on the take. He has you.”

Oswald flinched.

“He wants to make it official. You taking his money constitutes an unofficial contract, as it were.”

“I know how graft works.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Oswald, please stop apologizing. I can’t stand any more apologies.”

“Jim, please don't be angry with me. This isn’t my fault.”

“Isn’t it? You made me be your friend. How is this not your fault?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Jim wished so hard that he could take them back. Oswald’s face pinched. He lowered his eyes, looking utterly wretched, and fiddled with his cufflinks as he turned away. The ones that Jim had given him. 

“Oswald,” he said, but Oswald cut him off before he could continue. 

“I bought you groceries,” he said, sounding distressed. “There are still leftovers from yesterday. You can have that instead if you want.”

“Oswald.”

Jim stepped forward, but Oswald backed away, taking his coat out of the closet.

“I think it’s better that I go home tonight,” he said. “You don’t want me around right now.”

“Oswald, please stop. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Oswald slipped his coat on, but he didn’t button it. Instead, he stared into the closet, the right side of his mouth twisting.

“Why not?” he asked, hurt bleeding into his words. “It’s true.”

“No, it’s not. You didn’t push me into this. I took my anger out on you. I should never have done that. I spent the whole day being worried sick about you. The last thing I want is to push you away.”

“It sounded like that’s precisely what you want to do.”

The guilt in Jim’s gut intensified.

“I don’t.”

He stepped in front of Oswald and took his hands in both of his.

“I promise you,” Jim continued, “I don’t want to push you away.”

 _Though I know I should_.

Slowly, Oswald raised his eyes to him and nodded, squeezing Jim’s hands. 

“Do you have any idea,” he said, “how furious this situation makes me? How much I wanted to do things you would not approve of to Maroni when he told me what he wanted you to do? I love you more than my own life, Jim. Please don’t ever forget that.”

Jim hugged him, kissing the side of his head, his heart in his throat.

“I won’t. I love you, too.”

Inch by inch, Oswald melted against him, laying his head on Jim’s shoulder.

“Please stay. For dinner, at least,” Jim said.

Oswald breathed softly on his neck.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll stay.”

```````````````  
```````````````  
Oswald clung to Jim for a while, counting out the seconds until he finally found the strength to detach himself from him and hang his coat back in the closet.

"I'll finish putting the groceries away," he said, heading for the kitchen without looking at Jim.

"I'll do that,” Jim said, following him. “You go sit. I'll make you something."

Oswald shook his head.

“I would rather make something myself.”

Reaching the kitchen, he took a bottle of orange juice out of the supermarket bag.

“At least let me help you,” Jim said.

He started emptying out the last shopping bag.

“You didn’t have to go shopping for me, either,” he continued. “I could have gone later.”

The bottle in the fridge, Oswald reached for a package of mozzarella.

“Jim, you were out of food. I had time. I didn't want you to worry about getting food after you got home. You just betrayed what you stand for and you blame me for it. Shopping is one more little stressful thing you didn't need."

“I don’t blame you. I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Yes, you do. I don’t lie to you. Please don’t lie to me.”

Oswald put away three cans of beans in one of the upper drawers, the rasp of the metal against the wood the only sound in the room. It rasped at Oswald's nerves.

“I shouldn’t blame you," Jim said after a moment. "It’s wrong of me."

Setting down a can of mixed vegetables, Oswald turned to him. Jim was leaning with his back against the counter, hands gripping the edge, remorseful eyes begging Oswald to believe him. And Oswald did. If Jim truly believed that Oswald had manipulated him into this outcome, he would be shoving Oswald out the door and forbidding him from ever contacting Jim again. His affection for Oswald wouldn't supersede that. But it still hurt to hear it. Jim had probably never stopped having doubts about their relationship, but with every task that Maroni assigned him, with every compromise he had to make for Oswald's welfare, every time that Oswald couldn't hide the truth from him about the violence he perpetrated, those doubts would grow bigger until Jim could no longer stomach who he was becoming and he'd tell Oswald to leave. It was coming. Oswald knew it. It was only a matter of time. And it would tear his soul apart.

"Thank you," Oswald said, smiling wanly. "I know you mean that."

Squeezing Jim's shoulder, he pulled him down for a short kiss, then turned to take out a pan to cook something.

"I'm not--" Jim said, making Oswald stop, pan handle in hand. "I don't think I can eat right now."

He looked like the thought of putting food in his mouth might make him throw up. Had he vomited earlier? His face was rather pale. Oswald would make him eat something light later. A sandwich would be good. Jim shouldn't go to bed without eating.

"Okay," Oswald said, closing the drawer. "I'll warm up some stew for myself, then."

"I'll do it. Go sit down and I'll bring it to you. And could you please get rid of the money? I can't look at it again."

"Sure. I'll take it."

And add it to his own, all earmarked for taking down Maroni and Falcone. With Maroni expecting further betrayal from him, acquiring funds that he wasn't already entitled to would be difficult, maybe impossible. He would need every cent. Besides, using Maroni's money against him would be so satisfying.


End file.
